Page 37

T he soft notes from the piano echo through the room, a slow, haunting melody that I’ve been tweaking for days. The chords are perfect, the transitions smooth, but it still doesn’t feel finished. It’s like there’s something missing.

I exhale through my nose, the sound sharp in the quiet, and drag my fingers over the keys again. The notes tumble into each other like waves, but they don’t land right.

It’s wrong.

It’s all fucking wrong.

I push back from the bench, raking a hand through my hair. Using the elastic on my wrist and pull up my hair into a messy bun at the top.

I glance over my shoulder, and the frustration that’s been simmering all evening fades—just a little.

Sable’s sprawled out on my bed, lying on her stomach with a sketchpad on the bed as she sketches, her brows furrowed in concentration. She’s wearing the black silk pajamas Dayton got her for Christmas. The smooth fabric drapes over her like water, the hem of the shorts riding high on her thighs as she shifts slightly.

She’s everything I don’t deserve, and everything I can’t stop reaching for.

I turn back to the piano, my jaw tightening as I force my fingers to move over the keys. The melody comes out harsher this time, jagged and uneven, but it doesn’t matter. I can feel her presence like sunlight on my back, softening the edges of my mood even as I try to hold on to it.

She looks peaceful. Except for the small furrow, her pencil stilling on the page. I see it—the weight behind her eyes, the way her shoulders tighten just a fraction too much. She thinks she’s hiding it, but I know better.

I’ve seen that look before.

I’ve worn that look before.

I play a few more notes, slower this time, but my focus is shot, forcing me to stop. The silence cloaking me in disappointment.

“Levi?”

“Yeah?” I don’t look at her, keeping my gaze on the reflection of myself inside the piano.

“You stopped playing.”

I let my fingers rest on the keys. “Needed a break.”

“You okay?”

I glance back at her, raising an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be relaxing. Not worrying about me.”

“Drawing is relaxing,”

I snort. “Sure, it is.”

She smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The sketchpad shifts slightly on her lap as she hesitates, her pencil hovering above the page. “Levi… do you ever feel like…” Her words trail off, and she presses her lips together like she’s trying to keep them from escaping.

“Feel like what?”

She takes a breath. “Like you’re not in control. Like no matter what you do, it’s never enough?”

I’ve felt that way a thousand times, the need for control always clawing at the edges of my mind.

“All the fucking time.”

She bites her lip, her lashes dipping as she looks down at her lap. “I hate that I need the medication,” she whispers. “I hate that I can’t just… be normal without it. It makes me feel weak. Broken.”

Something inside me twists, hating the way she doubts her ability. I make it over to her in a few strides. She looks up, startled, as I sit beside her on the edge of the bed.

“You’re not broken,” I say firmly, my hand takes hers and kisses the top of it. “And fuck normal. Normal doesn’t mean shit.”

“You’re not exactly objective.”

I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. “No, I’m not. But I know what it feels like to hate the things that help you. To feel like you’re not enough on your own.” I pause, dragging in a breath as the words I’ve never said aloud come spilling out. “You’re more than enough, Sable. Always.”

Her breath hitches, and she leans into my touch, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I just… I don’t want to need it forever.”

“Maybe you won’t,” I murmur. “But needing it doesn’t make you weak. It means you’re fighting. And there’s nothing weak in a fighter. You proved that last night.”

Her fingers brush over mine, tentative but warm, and for a moment, the tension in my chest eases.

“Play something.”

I nod, standing and moving back to the piano. My hands find the keys, and the melody that comes this time is slower, softer, filled with the weight of everything I can’t put into words.

I glance over at her as I play, watching as her eyes soften and her lips curve into a faint smile. She’s my anchor, even when I don’t deserve her.

Sable sets her sketchpad aside, standing and moving to sit beside me on the piano bench. Her shoulder brushes against mine, and the simple contact makes the melody flow easier.

“You see?” I say, my fingers never stopping. “You’re not broken. You’re my muse.”

Sable leans against me for a moment longer, her warmth seeping into my side, before she stands and retrieves her sketchpad from the bed. She settles back onto the bench beside me, tucking her legs underneath her, and the charcoal-smudged pages rest on her lap once again.

She doesn’t say anything—she doesn’t need to. Her presence alone is enough.

The faint scratch of her pencil against the paper blends with the melody I’m playing, the two sounds weaving together like they belong. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Her lips part just enough for her teeth to catch her bottom lip, a habit she always falls into when she’s focused.

Her hand moves in smooth, confident strokes, and I know without asking that she’s sketching me.

It’s not the first time she’s done it. I’ve found her sketches before—loose sheets tucked into the pages of her sketchbook. Half-finished drawings of me at the piano, sprawled out on the couch, or even asleep. She never shows them to me, she never shows any of us her sketches.

I let my eyes linger on her for a moment longer before turning back to the piano. My fingers flow over the keys, the melody washing over us.

She doesn’t just sit beside me. She anchors me.

There’s a peace in this moment, one I didn’t think I was capable of feeling. The kind that settles deep in my chest, calming the storm that usually churns there. She makes me feel… steady. Like I’m not just a mess waiting to happen.

Sable’s pencil stills for a moment, and she glances up at me, her eyes catching the light in a way that makes my chest ache.

“You’re beautiful,” I say quietly.

Her lips twitch into a small, shy smile, and she ducks her head back down, focusing on her drawing. “So are you.”

The melody falters as my chest tightens, but I pick it back up, letting the music flow again.

I’ve never been good at saying what I feel. Words don’t come easy to me—not the ones that matter, anyway. But when I look at her, I feel like I don’t need to say anything. She just… knows.

Sable is my sanctuary, Kai my storm. And somehow, they both feel like home.